


Pleasant Interruption

by lipstitches



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Xeno, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipstitches/pseuds/lipstitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little one shot vwoodoo inspired by an amazing picture (used as illustration) drawn for me by the incredible talented <a href="moirallegianceismagic.tumblr.com">moirallegianceismagic</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasant Interruption

Your name is Kurloz Makara, and you think you've made yourself a rather grand decision in choosing your pitchmate. 

There is a lot about Cronus Ampora to hate. His human getup wouldn't be quite so irksome if the motherfucker didn't still somehow manage to smell like saltwater under that obnoxious cologne. He still flirts shamelessly with everyone he can find, fiending after everyone that isn't you and kicking it up a notch above his already cloud-hidden level of terrible whenever he sees you watching. He never even lights that damn cigarette. (You've taken to stealing them from his lips every chance you get, lighting them and making direct eye contact when you blow the smoke into his face. He hates that shit. It's gorgeous.) When out of the eye of the general public, however, he's disgustingly eager to please you, strong enough that the sparring is worth your time and frankly not half bad where pails are involved. He likes to use his teeth and claws and spit out really nasty shit during, and you motherfuckin' _love_ putting him back in his place. 

Like right now, for example. He's crashed into your hive (again) and started shouting insults at which ever wall he thought you might've been hiding behind (again) and if you weren't busy it may not have bothered you so. But you were in the fucking middle of something more important than any of these motherfuckers will ever understand involving a series of connected bubbles and your dancestor and these abrupt intrusions are really beginning to wear on your nerves. Not to mention you're still in your fucking relaxing get up, some button down shirt and comfortable pants, certainly not dressed for company. At least your face is painted; he'd be in a lot of shit if he'd caught you without it.

So you slam open the door to your respiteblock and near run down the stairs with the largest book you could find in hand. The moment you see him you chuck it at his head. He only just ducks in time, damn him. He likes it when you get frustrated at him is the problem; you're allowing yourself to show him some anger and he's smirking at how your breath is coming a little harder than usual and the way your nostrils are flaring and you take a deep breath and straighten up as you descend the rest of the stairs. Before you can even finish extending your arm he removes the cigarette from his lips and tucks it away, taking a step forward to get up in your space. Motherfucker.

You glare at him and sneer a bit, and his smirks gets wider the longer you stare at one another. You finally shrug hard at him, wanting to know what the fuck was so imperative that he needed to bust your front lock (AGAIN).

"You up for a little fun by any chance?" He starts right off the bat with that vile slimy tone to his voice and you huff at him. He's starting to flush a little in the face and while it most certainly doesn't assuage your anger in the slightest it does make you infinitely more curious. You take a step back and look him over before crossing your arms and gesturing for him to continue. His ideas are never exactly impressive or complex, but yes; sometimes they are fun. He licks his lips and you can't help but fidget a bit. You want to punch him every time he does that.

Cronus says "Vwell," and shoves your shoulders as hard as he can. The momentary shock of the move throws you back against the wall and you bounce back as soon as you hit it, lunging at him and grabbing the neck of his shirt to pull him to you. The sound of his laughter is grating and your patience is already worn thin for this visit. You slide your hands up to his throat, press your fingers into his gills for a moment before moving to his fins and squeezing. The laughter stops and you tilt your head at him. Motherfucker better get talking something worthwhile before you throw him out.

Now he's just staring at you in a panic with your hands on his fins and you give him a good shake to snap him out of it. "Okay, okay! I wvas just vwondering if you'd wvanna.. you know.. Knock me around a bit?" 

You snort at him but can't stop the upwards quirk at the corner of your mouth. Shameless loathsome pailbait that he is, he does know how to get under your skin. And when do you _not_ want to knock him around? His blood on your knuckles is motherfucking exciting, and for all the surprising strength he can throw your way he bruises all easy and it's simple enough to get him screaming. You cock your head again and he grins at you right before you grab his horns and throw him to the ground.

He growls at you and tries to spring back up, but he isn't quite quick enough on the recovery and you get your foot on his chest before he can stand. He claws at your leg and you press down into his ribs, relishing the weird offended little squawk he lets out before managing to roll out from under you. You're set off balance just long enough for him to punch you in the face. Now your nose is bleeding. He was right. This is fun. You rip off your gloves and go for his fins again, missing when he pulls back and dragging your claws against his face. His hand moves to the scratches on either side of his jaw and you know you're breathing heavy at the feeling of it beneath your claws and the look of horror on his face. 

"Vwhy do you always go for the face first thing!?" he screams as he shoots forward again and this time he catches you with his shoulder, wraps an arm around you and knocks you onto the floor. Then he straddles your hips and you wish you could spit on him. "You usually do better than this. Did I catch you sleeping again?" There's venom dripping off every word and your muscles begin to tighten up as fury seeps into you. You glare for a long moment and his smile falters just slightly before you rear up and headbutt him as hard as you can. He cries out and falls back and you get on top of him, pinning him to the floor by his wrists and smirking while he pants and blinks and tries to fight the spinning his head must be doing now.

Then you roll your hips a little against his and he gasps and you've won. It's that simple. You let go of his arms and take a fistful of his greasy hair, pull him to you and crush your stitches against his mouth. He nips at the string and grabs your waist and you laugh at him as he rocks beneath you. You slide your fingertips down and across the lacerations you made on his cheeks, smearing the blood across his face and down his neck, running your claws along his gills just enough to threaten tearing. Cronus shudders and slips his hands under your shirt and you release him long enough to unbutton it. He slips it away just so your shoulders are bare and then sinks his teeth into you immediately. 

_Fuck_ , they're sharp. The pain shoots through you and you falter for a second, one sharp inhale and a small broken moan and he's snickering at you all wicked like he's got you beaten with a single bite. You shred the back of his shirt, feeling blood pool up under your claws and he yowls and releases you from his grip. This time you get the punch in, your knuckles colliding with the cuts you made earlier along the sides of his face and his head hits the floor hard again. This time he has to stop, holding up a hand to signal a needed break and you shake your head at him. He'd be able to tell you rolled your eyes if you had pupils to move. Miserable sight he is like this, pathetic and still writhing beneath you even as he asks to catch his breath.

You haven't even hurt him yet.

"You wvin. You wvin, I givwe. Wvhy alvways the face? You can't go for my stomach or something? Evwer?!" You grin at him and flick him in the nose as hard as you can. He snorts at the contact and you laugh harder than you have since the night you quadranted him. He sighs deeply and looks away for a second.

"So... wvhat do you vwant?" It comes from him low, the far off rumble of a purr in the back of his throat and you raise an eyebrow at him. He props up on his elbows and stares you dead in the eye, half-lidded gaze and his lip between his teeth and everything. The absolute picture of a hungry, desperate troll. You have to think for a moment. Then you gesture for his cigarette. He groans and digs it back out, hands it to you and _pouts_ when you get your lighter out. You take the first drag and lean in close to his neck, blowing the smoke out of your nostrils and straight into his gills. He coughs and you laugh before standing.

What do you want? Well, let's see. What haven't you gotten him to do? You've only been caliginous mates for so short a time at this point, there's plenty you could get from him you suppose. But him giving up the fight so quickly tells you something; he's not here to be beaten, he's here to submit. You'd love to oblige him that, truly. A slow grin spreads across your face and now he looks all hopeful, like you've got the secret to all his problems stashed behind your sutures. You take another long drag of the cigarette before motioning for him to follow you. He does so on his hands and knees. Love of all that's holy it's a good look for him, bleeding and obedient.

You find your most comfortable chair and slide your pants down just far enough for him to fit, then get your free hand on his horn and drag him between your knees as your bulge unsheathes. He pulls your pants down the rest of the way and you have to laugh at his attempt at force. He still looks eager, if a little irked, but he takes you into his mouth nonetheless and your head goes back against the chair. He goes excruciatingly slowly at first, and when you ash into his hair he scrapes his teeth along the underside of your bulge and you give his head a shake and glare at him again. He doesn't need to know how much you enjoy that; he might actually bite. Then he smirks and what was left of your smile fades. You thrust up into his mouth, take another drag from the cigarette as he chokes. He looks good like this, too, and damn if he doesn't make the prettiest sounds when you fuck his throat. The only thing that'd be better would be if he could still speak like this, but you don't give enough of a fuck about his dirty talk at the moment to allow him the time to voice it.

He looks up at you again, tears shining in the corners of his eyes from choking and you sigh and caress his cheek gently. He needs so much goddamn reassurance about the most trivial of things. No faith in his own ability as a bucket even as he slides his tongue around the tip of your bulge and you give him a stuttering little sigh. He's gotten back into a rhythm, fucking finally going faster, hitting the back of his throat harder. His nose presses against your skin each time he takes your length whole into his mouth, and he's making that weird little humming noise that you've taken to meaning both that he's enjoying what's happening and that his bulge is angry and in pain at not being touched. You often refuse to touch him beyond grinding your hips against his, he's just built to be teased and brutalized, and you know it pisses him the hell off. You laugh again as he picks up his pace, take another long drag off of the cigarette and run your free hand through his hair again, clawing harshly at his scalp. He shoots you an angry stare that doesn't quite hit its mark with his mouth full of your bulge, his face all flushed up violet and that needy little groan still coming up from his throat at you. This motherfucker. Doesn't know what the fuck he wants until he's halfway done with something else. Infuriating bastard.

The hand in his hair grips tight again and you bring his throat to you rather than move your hips to him, enjoying the way his groan vibrates against you. He just sounds so compliant, so frantic for anything you'll give him that it's downright wicked sordid and you bask in the way he gives in each and every time it happens. Some day he'll get you back, you're sure of it and not to mention a little curious as to how he might do so, but for now he's got your bulge in his mouth and you _love_ it. Fuck you're close. He better be ready; you have no sympathy for someone offering whatever you want and not being prepared. Your breathing is heavy, the cigarette has burned to the filter and is starting to scald your fingers. You throw it away quickly to get both hands on both his horns and then you stand, forcing him back onto just his knees. His hands go around your thighs and he digs in, pinpricks of blood welling beneath his grip and _that's_ it motherfucker, just like that, you want to destroy him, you want to ruin him, you-

You gasp and throw your head back as you spill into his mouth and subconsciously congratulate him on his willingness to swallow, lapping at what he didn't quite catch and releasing his hold on your thighs. You slump back into the chair when he lets you go, both of you trying to catch your breath as quickly as you can. He can even make recovery a race, somehow, and you _hate_ him for it. He gets up and wipes his face with the back of his hand, licks it off (and fuck him for that, he knows you like watching him do it) and then leaves quick as he showed up without so much as a thank you for spending your valuable time on him. You're not even angry about the interruption anymore.

Prick.


End file.
